Run... That was the message now flooding through the Imperial Holo Net: Run far, run fast, run faster. Black Moon had fallen, along with Sullust and a score of beachhead worlds that lay on the boarder of the Core systems of the Empire. Imperial Centre, the world once known as Coruscant, now lay in the path of army that fought for the justice of all sentients. It stood in the path of the juggernaut that would not stop, could NOT stop, until the Empire was a memory formed of ash and cind-

“Ensign?”

Ensign Copek Tommel gave a little squeak, the stylus and data pad falling from his hands at the interruption into his mental revelry. He quickly reached down to pick up the clattering pad and pen which had made an inhumanly loud sound within the cramp confines of the Alliance destroyer ‘Alighted Dawn’s sensor room. His hand reached the pen just in time to see the pad plucked up by senior watch officer, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Waddington.

“I...I was just manually working on some...er...long range sensory trigonometry problems Sir.” Copek covered himself as fast as he could, looking back up at the large holo tank display before him, turning his head just a little to keep an eye on the shapely female officer.

Alec Waddington was a veteran spacer, from Hoth to Bakura and back again so the story went, and she didn’t take the excuse at face value. She glanced down at the pad, re-reading the last few lines of the text crammed screen and nodded.

“SenTrig problem eh?” she said slowly, turning the pad over in her hands and held it out to the Ensign who took it thankfully. But before he could snag it she held fast, and leaned in close to whisper to him “I know picket duty in a friendly star system isn’t the most exciting job in this woman’s navy, but so help me this is not your bunk. Keep the propaganda material there, and your head in your scopes.”

“Yes ma’am.” The young ensign gulped down a fear laced reply as he stuffed the pad back into his ship suit, a blush of embarrassment making his face glow in the soft reflected light of the sensory holo’s.

“Also, Ensign...its ‘could NOT be stopped’. I’ve not spent the last six months making you a first rate sensory tech just for you to slip backwards with bad grammar.” A slight ghost of a smile played at her lips, and Copek thought for a moment that perhaps he’d get off this day without another brush with a near death experience.

The sudden whooping from his display and the flashing red battle lights proved his hopes a falsehood. His screen’s suddenly filled with the psychedelic false colour imagery that was to be expected from a sensory suite tuned to see into the murky realm of 6th dimensional reality called hyperspace. And right now every device he had at his disposal was telling him something was closing in from out system.

Something big.

“Contact!” he squeaked, his voice crackling a little s he began to work the controls to bring definition to something that was mired in a dimension of space time that laughed mockingly at the rules of physics “In bound hyper space foot print detected!”

“Vector and mass reading!” Waddington called out as she took her own station, eyes glancing to the captain of the ‘Alighted Dawn’ as he began to ready the small destroy for war. A recommissioned Corellian gun boat, the ‘Alighted Dawn; had all the weaknesses of a Corvette with none of the advantages. She had little in the way of speed, her guns were mostly forward facing, and her close in anti star fighter weaponry was at best a joke. But what the ‘Dawn’ lacked in teeth and speed, she made up for with her keen sense of hearing.

Her sensors could detect the bow wave of a ship travelling through hyperspace. It wasn’t a lot of warning, usually only a few minutes, but the wave a ship created in that 6th dimensional wonderland corresponded both to the speed the ship was travelling through hyperspace and her tonnage.

The bridge of the tiny war ship went deathly quiet. A destroy, will or not, could not stand toe to toe with a capital ship of that magnitude. At best all the ‘Alighted Dawn’ could was get in her way for six seconds before being snuffed out in a hail of turbo laser fire.

“Communications...” the gravelly voice of the destroyers captain growled from his station towards the rear “Send a burst transmission to the Bespin garrison for the attention of the Rear Admiral. As follows ‘Have detected in bound hyperspace target, status unknown but probable capital class war ship. Will remain on station and transmit status’. Attach sensor’s report and send that.”

The bridge remained silent, but they preformed their duties all the same. They’d sent a warning to the defending forces orbiting Bespin, a hodpodge of repair facilities and flotilla of hospital ships using Bespins peaceful status as a way station in the long awaited thrust into the galactic core. The ‘Alighted Dawn’ might not survive the hour, but at least the systems defenders would have a chance to knowing their enemies strengths.

Minutes ticked by, and all the young ensign could think about was what would happen when the inevitable came to pass. A tin can like the Dawn had no-

His display made a new sound: real space translation wave detected. They’d arrived. Light speed sensors took agonising seconds to send out pulses of radio and light waves to the unknown interloper, tickling and painting her skin for a moment before bouncing them back to the ‘Alighted Dawn’s active sensors.

Long seconds in which they were either all dead men, or very much alive.

“Unknown transgressor. You’ve entered a restricted military volume. Identify yourself immediately or you will be fired upon.” Copek could hear in the back ground as he sweated bullets, as the communications section sent out the standard Alliance navy challenge. There was little he could do but what his sensor’s as they built up a composite image of the still distant, but rapidly approaching, target.

“Sir, unknown target claims to be the Alliance Navy Ship Vanguard out of Sullust, carrying personnel bound for Bespin for R&R. Their authentication codes match with the current day codes.” The officer manning the comm. Section stated, and the tension left the room in a huff.

“Send them our well wishes then, and then on their way. Copy the challenge acceptance back to the Rear Admiral on Bespin, and copy to the Vanguard the current parking orbit arrangement. Wouldn’t want a navy war ship parking along side on of those rusty trillium freighters now would we.” The captian growl.

Copek just looked at his sensors and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as the Alliance war ship Vanguard came under her own power, diving down into the long fall towards Bespin and her rest facilities. Rest and recuperation...

Some people had all the luck.

TAG_one and all! its been a few days since the Liberation of Sullust! Time for wounds to all, but not all wounds can be healed can they? Rest and recreation to follow shortly in this exciting act of daring do called..'The Enemy of My Enemy'.

What Colonel Tyrell Ventra wanted after Sullust was some leave for everyone so that they could go home. After all, they would have a renewed understanding of what they had fought so hard for, and for whom. What he got, however, was two pairs of knitted socks, another piece of rather destroyed but tasty birthday cake -- this time, his grandson's -- and a letter couched in simple pleasantries with worry about him and pride of im in every written word.

Leave was granted to Dragons and Shades alike. After the Awards Ceremony, the medals hung around necks and black armbands distributed, they were granted two days of liberty at the newly rebuilt and recently liberated Cloud City of Bespin. Acccommodations, gambling casinos, restaurants and some down time seemed just what they needed. However, whatever was decided by the Rebel High Command was what Dragon Squadron and their Shades would do. And Bespin, with its cloud cars and overwhelmingly stunning skyscape was what they would do. At least for two days.

They rendez-voused with The Hemera, swapped stories and personnel, refueled and picked up some passengers, saying final farewells to others. Orbiting around the planet, ships were left behind to maintain the Alliance presence and keep Sullust free.

Engineers made sure that the fighters were settled, the Medical Bay was fully stocked, and the full contingent of troops were aboard.

The Shades had more permanent barracks, with Kaj Wendo and Arren Hawk finally being released into their own quarters.

Together and ready for the next leg of their journey, with some time off for good, or in some cases, not-so-good behaviour. But either way...

The Vanguard docked and Ventra strode into the barracks, giving everyone the eye and the customary briefing. "2 days of liberty have been granted. Bespin. And remember, we're here to relax, but we're still representing the Alliance. So, try to keep your noses clean, would you?"

They had shone in a place where nothing was even remotely bright, and they earned this freedom, no matter how brief.

"Blackburn, manage the Dragon's rotation, will you? And coordinate the Shades with Nabaal, or Wendo."

The boulevard was buzzing with activity. Clubs lined the streets and music poured out of them. People of all races and species gathered in all sorts of flashy attire or bodypaint. Hairs and scales were styled in the newest fashions. Laughter, screaming, crying, moaning. Everything was mingled together and clotted into some kind of buzz for those living nearby. Coruscant might be the centre of the Empire and the focuspoint of many evil plots and twists, but even the enemy needed a place to let off steam every once in a while. And this was that place. Here, in these clubs the officers and lackies of the Imperial Army forgot about their struggles while they vibed to the beats of the newest music. At least in here, they could be people for a few hours, knowing that only a few steps outside the club, the System was waiting for them, ready to reel them back into the Machine of War. But none of that mattered while they were inside. Inside they were free.

"VVVVVRRRRROOOOOOMMMPPPPPHHHHH!"

Heads and feelers turned upwards as the sound of roaring engines drowned out the music. A black and yellow speeder moved into the VIP parking lot. Passersby stood in awe of the awesomeness of the vehicle. Black stripe, yellow paint. The ones with eyes scared of it, those with feelers ain't. As soon as it touched the tarmac it hit the pedal once, made the floor shake. Nabooan suede inside, the engine roaring. It was a big boy, you know what was paid for it. People whispered to each other in wonder: "You know what it is?" As its driver stepped out and saw the valet parking boy, she simply said: "No keys, push to start." "Can I have your name, Miss?""Kaleigh Clouds."Let me tell you all a little something about Kayleigh Clouds. She's a nice young girl. Mid-twenties, long darkish hair, greenish eyes and brownish skin. Tall, slim. In one word: Beautiful. Another word: sexy. But enough about her appearance. After all, a book should never be judged by its cover. No matter how lovely. You see, there is this little tiny itsy bitsy small detail about her that might be controversial to some. I'll leave you wondering what that detail is.

First, let's start introducing her family. The Clouds family is rich, and by rich, I mean extremely loaded with credits. The name of Clouds was widely known throughout Core Worlds and beyond. They owned estates on all Core planets and the known Galaxy was literally strewn with their factories, warehouses and offices. They all went to the best private schools and wore the finest clothing available. All this wealth and awesomeness that circled around this family created a certain type of person.

And if we look at Kayleigh it gets clear what kind of type it brought forth.

Smiling to the valet parking boy, Kayleigh took out a small mirror out of her bag to see if her make up was still in tip top shape and her dress still as unwrinkled as it was when she left. Then she dived into one of the many clubs the boulevard had to offer. Ready to party through the night and forget about all her sorrows. Not that she had any.

For now.

Back outside, the valet parking boy sat in the black and yellow speeder, taking in the wealth and riches he was surrounded by. Then his expression changed. "Clouds..." he murmered with utmost disgust and spat in the diamond covered cup holder. He pushed to start, hit the pedal to the metal, and right before the speeder dived for the unknown darkness of Coruscant's lower levels, he jumped out. Carefully he looked over the edge of the VIP parking lot and saw the black and yellow monster disappear into the depths of the cityplanet.

"Whoops... clumsy me." He said in an apologetic sort of way. And with that he dusted off his shoulders and went back to help the new arrivals park their vehicles.

What caused this sudden destructive urge? Maybe the family company's slogan had something to do with that:

"Clouds! For a stronger Empire"

You see, the Clouds are the Empire's biggest arms dealer.

But let's not get distracted by tiny unimportant details now, shall we? As long as you're inside those clubs, the world outside has no meaning. And for Kayleigh? She was just being herself. Living the only life she knew.

Black had done what he did best. He receded into the shadows. He'd turned his back on the galaxy at large, and fallen into a much smaller and more personal world of his own making. In this shadow world of his, he was training. Many a stray tech walking lazily down a quiet corridor, had a brief encounter with a young man, dressed in black, running full pelt right past them. In cargo rooms, Black could be seen climbing and jumping across cargo containers.

Every sixteen hours or so, a hot and sweaty Black would silently glide back to the Dragon's crew quarters. He'd wash and sleep, and six hours later he'd be up again, grabbing a quick bite to eat, and disappearing back into the recesses of the ship. He'd skipped the awards ceremony completely. While others were celebrating, Black was beating himself up. He'd failed Endira. He should never of let her play the heroine. What good comes from fighting a noble cause if you die?

But where Endira's death made Black want to curl up and cry, the burning flames of revenge against the Black Merchant, gave Black an endless desire to keep pushing himself. Making himself faster, stronger, nimbler. Black knew he was pushing his body towards an early grave, but as long as he put the Black Merchant in hers, he didn't care.

When you stare into the depths of space, all your see is infinity staring back at you, letting you know, just how insignificant you really are.

It hadn't been easy leaving Sullust. Many things had gone so very wrong, while others seemed to go just as they were planned. Endira, their contact, was killed in the melee, and so easily as well. How long she had suffered, and trained, only to be cut down without much fanfare. How it hit him squarely in the gut when they were all supposed to just continue on.

Fingering his black armband, Nicholas Blackburn accepted this order as he had all others: with duty and honor.

Seeking out the Dragons, he held the monitor in his hands and moved with R5 through the corridors of The Vanguard. Nicky had learned quite quickly to take one large step to the left when stopping by the Squadron's quarters -- it stopped him from getting hit in the back of his legs by the 'droid.

"Report to the gangway," Blackburn said as he walked by the barracks. "I don't need your moaning -- we're all going. And that's an order."

Taking a second look at Black, he hardened his stare and said bluntly, "That means you too. Orders are orders."

The main landing bay for the Vanguard was a hive of activity as usual. Maintenance workers hurried to and fro repairing the host of small craft and star fighters the bay contained, replenishing their fuel cells and ammunition magazines, and generally making sure that the Vanguard was ready to go to war every second of every day. They did this with a professionalism that boarded on the zealot edge of devotion only monks would have found kinship in: for without the deck monkeys, the tool workers, and the gun boss’s the Alliance armed forces could not perform their primary function: kill Imperials.

So when a group of Alliance grunts, dressed in their best off duty khaki’s with their onyx rank bar’s gleaming in the high powered over head lighting, a lot of the maintenance work just kept on rolling in. After all proton torpedos do not load themselves, and laser cannon that aren’t sighted correctly tend to fire away from the enemy, so the grease monkeys ignored the small invasion into their little fiefdom. As long as the hard cases kept their hand in their pockets and didn’t try to help...

Techs fix things, army breaks things. That’s the way it is. If a solider tried to help a tech with a project, there was only one out come: Bad Things Happen. And no techie worth his salt liked to have Bad Things Happen. That’s why that saying gets the capital letter treatment, because you treat Bad Things with respect and they do not appear on your work order.

(Please stand up, spin around three times saying ‘Praise the Spanner’ backwards three times, and then you may continue reading...do it now....right now or Bad Things Happen. Mostly to your account but there might be fall out, think of the survivors....Good we can continue. Kind regards the SLA Tech Team and its Monkey Union work force.)

The difference between star fighter jocks and troopers could be seen every time they had to dress up for any occasion, be it a state dinner, formal military function, or R&R where they just had to look presentable for the public eye. And the difference was that clearly, the Alliance loved its misguided children who pounded the ground more than the fly babies who whined about metal fatigue and fuel to weight ratios.

Pampered brats the lot of them was the standard opinion among the gun beasts, unless they were drop ship pilots. In which case they were considered rehabilitated and fit to wear the khaki slacks of the working folk.

The Shade’s might have been a under manned rump company of the Alliances finest, but they were still a large group of people to move through a crowded landing bay. They preformed this task by doing that thing troopers love most, apart from the mud and showing how much they missed Momma Earth every time they got the chance, and that was marching. Take a group of troopers, be they in full battle rattle or in civilian clothing, and tell them all to go in one direction and they will form a line two abreast (or more) and walk in that direction in perfect sync.

An army that fights together, marches together, and wins together. Or that’s how people saw it, and who were troopers to educate the masses on the fun of a 10 klick quick march through swamps at the dead of night? Swamps would get crowded if word got out.

But the column of Shades was light in a few places, and the gaps were readily apparent. No one moved in to fill the gaps, and those that marched alone did so with a stiffer back and straighter shoulders, seeming to carry the extra burden of his missing fellow. Because that was what every Shade would be in the end, only missing in action. Every causality report would lie, every news cast they got featured in would speak of their bravery, talent, commitment...but never the losses, the sacrifices, or of those that never went home.

Because Shades never die, they just go missing and keep on fighting.

And in a way that was true enough. Specialist Second Grade Tank Brody might have died a horrible death at the hands of something that defied explanation, but he hadn’t really died in the eyes and minds of his fellow Shades. His body and armour might belong to Sullust, buried as an unnamed hero to the great liberation, but his courage belonged to the Alliance and those who would be his brothers and sisters in arms.

The column snaked through the mass of preparing hardware until they were lined up alongside a troop ship, a gaudily painted dame with fiery red hair reclining on the ship’s nose with the name ‘Screaming Susan’ scrawled lovingly below the scantily clad nose art. With a click of heels, the Shade’s came to attention as the officer that had lead them from trooper country in the bowels of the Vanguard walked slowly down their length, giving them the benefit of his professional opinion.

“Not too bad...not to damn blood bad.” Lieutenant Colonel Nabaal growled, still looking like he could chew a metal support beam and spit out suppressing fire that would make a AT-AT contemplate retreat as a viable option. He stopped a few times, staring intently at rank bars, or the creases that were more geometry problem than laundry duty before he reached the end.

“Six months we’ve been on this navy boat,” he said the word with a sneer, getting a return grin from a few and a few grumbles of appreciation at the friendly ribbing between working stiffs and navy pukes whenever one of their precious star ships got called a ‘boat’ like it was some dinky marina dwelling sail barge “And you all still look like the misguided children of the Alliance to me! A suitable reward for such a feat of bravery, endurance and patience’s would be a two day liberty to finer drinking establishments of Cloud City.”

The ‘HUH-RAH!’ that came from the Shades was loud, proud, and enough of a distraction to raise the hackles of the nearest deck monkey who was waist deep in the guts of an X-wing’s inertial compensator. The universally recognised hand signal for ‘Do you mind, I’m working very hard here?’ was given by the tech in the age old fashion, but not returned. Troopers only fought battles where they knew they could win, and there were a large number of tech’s with a larger amount of war material lying around that only they knew how to work.

If they put it all back together again...

“Unfortunately...” Nabaal said, his words drowned out by a very childish ‘Awwww’ of utter disappointment as he waved them down from a full blown mutiny “Unfortunately three volunteer’s will be required to remain on the Vanguard, to continue running maintenance on the armour suits and the weapons. This is a role of vital importance! This might be a two day liberty, but we are still at war and I will not have my heart breakers and hard cases walking into battle with armour that’s ‘in the pink’!”

This got a snigger and a ripple of laughter from along the line, and the deep embarrassing blush of one trooper who will remain nameless (coughPrivate Dexter Uldric, back row second from the endcough) who had dropped onto Sullust with a suit of battle of armour that had since been broken down into spare parts for the rest of the company. The reason for this was a simple one: it was now bright neon pink due to a software fault in its adaptive camouflage system. It would re-set to default battle ship grey on command, but as soon as the power pack safeties were removed to allow full functionality as was SOP for missions...it would fire up a test pattern that would get stuck on the pink setting. Re-set to defaults and move a single servo assisted muscle and ‘bing’! Pink!

Surprisingly the shock value of this in combat had worked out for the trooper in question, but The Power That Was had determined the tactic wasn’t going to work out very well on the second try.

“You have until the Dragons get here to find in yourselves three volunteers. When you do, step forward. to get your reward and work order!” He was walking back up the line, and stopped before Wendo and placed ice cold stare upon her “Except you Miss Wendo.”

His eyes narrowed, turning their grey flint into razor sharp steel as he appraised her before his teeth bared. He looked up at the over head deck lighting and shook his head.

“Miss Wendo....I know you’ve been in the care of deck walking apes the last few days due to your scratches and belly aching over that little scuffle on Sullust, but if this is the sort of thing that leaves you unable to dress to the standards of an Alliance military officer I think you’d best learn to duck when the enemy fires at you.” He snarled, plunged a hand into his pocket and brought something out, and held out a small black box.

“Your setting a bad example for the men and women under your command by being out of uniform.” He cracked the box open, revealing a very different set of rank bars than were attached to her collar at the moment “Captain Wendo. You’d best see about changing that.”

This time the ‘HUH-RAH!’ was probably loud enough to rattle windows on Cloud City. But not one complained, not even the deck monkeys.

Grom “Gambler Extraordinaire” Gimli counted his luck by way of shaking two cubes in his closed palm. The long felt table lay out before him.

What he stood on was not called a stool. It was not called a booster step. It had not been located in the area filled with equipment for those horizontally or otherwise challenged.

Oh no!

What Grom “Gambler Extraordinaire” Gimli stood upon was the floor at the far end of the Chance Cube Table while everyone else stood in the lower shelf that was affectionately named The Pit.

The betting frenzied. Chits built in columns of threes or more lined several painted squares.

The pile at Grom’s position on the table was stacked four rows deep like a small city . A glass of clear liquid in the holder to his right. All eyes round the table on his fisted hand. He shook it at the start line.

“Double blue!” called a Herglic named Bigluu Rockaa who was given plenty of room.

“Waaayy Arrgggh!”(split) bellowed a Wookie

A Zeltron wearing the belt of security bent down and nudged the Sullustan at the start line.

"Who was that Wookiee I saw you with last night?” she hissed.

Grom “Lady’s Man” Gimli turned to the melodic voice of the red faced Amora Diva. His voice and emotions neutral, as her pheromones assaulted his good sense.

“Do not be jealous my dear, it was with pleasure I spoke with a friend at the bar. She recently joined the Rebellion from Kashyyyk,” Grom “ Big Daddy” Gimli replied.

“Toss or pass the cubes, Sullestan!!” Bigluu Rockaa bellowed from the far end of the chance table.

The super sized Herglic pounded the table for emphasis. A Lorrdian’s glass trembled. The Pit Manager moved in to calm the giant.

Grom “Big Daddy” Gimli ignored the interruption. “Permit me a final toss as my luck plays out so that I may show you the night as a woman of your impeccable tastes requires.”

A smile across her lips. Her fingers stroked his sensitive ear lobe as she whispered against his cheek, “I’ll be waiting.”

Her room key dropped into his hand as she brushed against him. Amora turned on her heels. Grom “by the force” Gimli open mouth stared as she swayed thru the Casino on her way upstairs. Her body undulate with every step she took until she reached the landing and disappeared down the hall. He watched without blinking once.

It took a few minutes to refocus. The cubes in his hand felt warm as he decided where to place his fortune and luck. The room key in his other felt warmer. Grom “Big Daddy” Gimli looked over at the Pit Boss.

Dovar was excited about the promise of shore leave on Bespin. He kinda wanted to see the chamber where Darth Vaders troops had carbon frozen Han Solo but wasn’t sure it would be on any kind of tour. He did look forward to spending time with the others in the squadron. For some reason he seemed to almost develop a reputation as a lone wolf. Part of it was probably due to his time working on the tests of the J-Wing Assault Fighter/Transport and also the way he was given the job of escorting Drealynn from where he and Lucius Lupo had rendezvoused with the Revelation to Sullust. Sure Lupo had been with him for the trip to collect Drealynn but after returning to the ship he had spent the rest of the time catching up with his girlfriend. How was a guy who was usually given solo assignments like that supposed to really bond with his Squadron mates. He then looked at a message he had received. His buddy Yackson was going to be taking shore leave as well on Bespin and around the same time. Surely he and Yackson could have a little safe fun“So what good things are there to do on this planet?” He asked one of his fellow pilots as they prepared to descend to the platform and enter the city?”Tag whoever.

Taking a second look at Black, he hardened his stare and said bluntly, "That means you too. Orders are orders."

Black looked side long at Nicky, almost seeming to appraise him, with his stare. His left hand flicked back the left hand side of his black trench coat, and absently stroked along the hilt of the vibroblade concealed there, before the edge of the trench coat flapped back over it, hiding it from view once more."Yes Sir," Black said, walking away from Nicky. "The gangway it is."

When you stare into the depths of space, all your see is infinity staring back at you, letting you know, just how insignificant you really are.

Let's look at the situation here. There's the Empire. Big, powerful, daunting. You were right to be afraid of them. You'd be right if you still are. Such a force doesn't simply vanish when its main Armada and two most important Leaders are destroyed. Power and governance simply shift to other people, ships are rebuilt and redeployed. Nothing changes in the status quo.

At least that's what the high ups in the Imperial Senate would like the people to believe, reality was different. Power struggles had already begun, and in the ensuing chaos the Rebels were taking one planet after another, weakening the worlds still under Imperial control (You always have to think about what the deceased Leader would think if they saw what a mess of things their successors were making of what they had worked so hard to build).

So the high ups see the borders of their Empire slowly crawling towards them, but nobody worries, why would they? The War is far away, only a few border systems fallen, who cares about Bakura or Sullust? But then there comes a time when suddenly they realise that the enemy has moved up so far that they're practically standing at the front gates!

And that when things start to slip out of control. You see, when faced with a powerful enemy that is coming for you, no matter what you do, people tend to follow one of the following three options:

1. They keep on fighting anyway (the high ups like the people to choose this option)2. They flee (the high ups tend to frown upon this kind of behaviour)3. They change teams (the high ups lose sleep over this)

Most people usually choose either option 2 or 3. The high ups usually try everything they can to make people see option 1 as the only possible course of action. And, usually, asking nicely doesn't particularly work well, it never does. Dilemma's, life's never easy, eh?

So, what usually happens in a city about to be overrun by the enemy from without, while the city is about to turn into a chaotic mess from within, because of everyone wanting to save their own skin?

More chaos.

The high ups are losing more and more control, the city is put under quarantine, a curfew is set, food is rationed, and the military is drafting everyone they can find to serve as cannonfodder. People are scared, they start to rob each other, executions become an every day thing. Hell breaks loose.

And you know the funny about all this? In the end the city is always sacked anyway, usually with its entire population massacred.

But fortunately our story hasn't arrived at that point yet. At this moment the high ups have just begun to feel a little bit nervous, beginning to realise everything is 'not' going so well after all.

And that's where Kayleigh comes in. When she came out of the club in the wee hours of the early morning, she couldn't find her speeder anywhere. She frowned at this, but was too hungover to care much and took a cab home. As she was walking all zombie-like to her room she saw her father in deep conversation with one of his advisors. If she'd looked closer she would've seen that her father's expression was far from relaxed. And maybe if she'd have cared she would have noticed the amount of guards had trippled.

All she cared about was sleep, for in a few hours she needed to be at her best to see her boyfriend, a promising Imperial Lieutenant who was madly in love with her. Oehhhhh, the joy!

You see, some people don't notice anything around them, they don't notice the subtle changes that mark the beginning of the end. Some didn't have any idea that there was something wrong in the first place. Shockingly, a select few aren't even aware of it when facing the firing squad.

Let's hope for Kayleigh that she'll quickly open up her eyes and sees what is coming for her. And let's hope that if she does, there's still time for her to get the hell out of there....

Captain. Wendo. Blinking a little, she accepted the bars with more than just a little shock. Taking the box, she nodded; no salute needed on the flight deck. "Yes, sir," she said, her voice low and clear, still slightly raspy from little use. The shuttle ride in gave her plenty of time to think... she certainly didn't get up this morning imagining she would be promoted. On the contrary, she was waiting to be benched, or busted down again.

Settling into her place on the seat, Kaj was happy to remain with the others. Rank or no rank. What should it matter? They would die just the same if they were hit with stray fire, and kill Imps just the same with weapons from the Alliance. So, short of her telling them how to deploy, they were pretty well still gonna do what they were gonna do, with or without her orders. She hadn't kept her nose clean or her record clear for this long. Something was bound to break, and break soon.

In or out of uniform... for now? She was on personal time, so no need to flash anything fancy and certainly no need for the new bars. It wouldn't get her preferential treatment in these bars, would it?

It had been some time in Medical, hadn't it? It had flown by for some, and crawled for others. Her dreams were interwoven with images of blood, odd colours, strange angles, moving creatures she had never seen before, some in silhouette, and others in profile. Like humans, but not. Like aliens, but not. Cross bred, perfected, genetically enhanced. Spliced and behaviour-modified to become something no one would ultimately be able to reckon with. Their low chitterings, mutterings and threats spiralling in and through her waking thoughts, dreams and nightmares...

Something must have jarred her focus, because she felt herself come back to the present with a start and she looked around the shuttle. A small sheen of sweat had collected on her upper lip, and the glazed look in her eye faded as she oriented herself. Using the back of her hand, she swiped it away, swallowing down the bile that threatened to land on the plating at her feet.

In retrospect, Kaj Wendo wasn't sure if she was more shaken by almost meeting her Maker down on Sullust or the fact that she had not seen the faces of her loved ones amidst the horror.

Tucking the box in her breast pocket, she leaned back, head resting against the hull. This time, she kept her eyes open. What lay behind her eyelids was something she didn't want to see...